Page 5 of Taming the Lion
I close the notebook, running a hand through my hair as I consider my next move. The investigation is personal now, not just because of the mission, but because I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to her. That’s why I need to stay close, under the guise of protecting the animals. It’s the perfect excuse, really. I get to keep an eye on her, gather information, and maybe—just maybe—find a way to keep her safe without her realizing just how deep I’m in this.
The decision is made, and it’s one I know I’ll have to be careful with. Spending more time with her is a double-edged sword. It gets me closer to the truth, but it also brings me dangerously close to crossing a line I swore I wouldn’t.
When I find her near the animal enclosures, she’s focused, her expression a mix of determination and unease. She looks up as I approach, her eyes narrowing slightly, as if she’s already trying to figure out what I’m doing here. I keep my voice casual, calm. “I was thinking we should work together, at least until we know Zeus is safe. Two sets of eyes are better than one.”
She hesitates, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind. She’s wary—good. She should be. But there’s also a flicker of relief there, something she tries to hide but can’t quite manage. Finally, she nods. “It makes sense. We can cover more ground that way.”
We can, but it’s more than that. Every moment we spend together, the tension between us builds, an undercurrent of something neither of us is willing to name but both of us feel. I know I’m playing with fire, but I can’t resist the pull. Being close to her is intoxicating, even as it complicates everything.
This proximity—it’s a time bomb, and I’m the one who lit the fuse. Now all I can do is wait for it to blow.
The night has settled over the circus, a blanket of stars flickering above us as the chaos of the day finally begins to fade. The grounds are quieter now, the sounds of the performances and the crowd replaced by the distant hum of generators and the occasional rustle of leaves. I find Sophia in a secluded spot, sitting on a weathered bench near the edge of the camp. She’s staring out at the darkened landscape, lost in thought.
I approach her slowly, careful not to break the fragile peace of the moment. She looks up as I near, her eyes catching the low light. There’s a softness there I haven’t seen before, a vulnerability that tugs at something deep inside me. Without a word, I sit beside her, leaving just enough space between us to keep it from feeling too intimate. But even with the gap, the tension crackles in the air, thick and undeniable.
For a while, neither of us speaks. It’s a comfortable silence, one that feels heavy with unspoken words, but also oddly reassuring. I can tell she’s been through something—something that’s left its mark on her, just as my past has left its mark on me. The circus is a place of refuge for people like us, but it’s also a place where secrets go to hide.
Finally, she breaks the silence. “I wasn’t always here, you know. At the circus.”
Her voice is quiet, almost hesitant, as if she’s unsure whether she wants to let me in. I stay silent, letting her find the words at her own pace. This is new for her—opening up—and I don’t want to push her. Whatever she’s about to tell me, it’s important, and I need to handle it carefully.
“I had a life before this,” she continues, her gaze still fixed on the distance. “A normal one, or at least it felt normal at the time. But that all changed when… well, when everything fell apart.”
She pauses, and I can see the struggle in her eyes, the way she’s fighting to keep her emotions in check. I want to reach out, to touch her hand, to offer some kind of comfort, but I don’t. Instead, I stay still, giving her the space she needs to tell her story.
“It was a few years ago,” she says, her voice steady now, as if she’s made a decision. “I was in love. Or I thought I was. But it turned out to be a lie. Everything I thought I knew, everything I trusted, it all came crashing down. And I couldn’t stay. I had to get away, had to find somewhere to start over.”
Her words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of her past. I can feel the pain behind them, the hurt she’s carried with her all this time. And I understand it, because I’ve carried my own pain, my own scars that never seem to heal. I finally allow myself to look at her, really look at her, and I see the strength beneath the surface, the resilience that’s kept her going despite everything.
“That’s when I found the circus,” she says, finally turning to meet my gaze. “It wasn’t what I expected, but it was what I needed. Zeus… he saved me in a way. Gave me something to hold on to, something to care about when I didn’t think I could care about anything anymore.”
Her voice falters, and for a moment, I see the girl she used to be, the one who was hurt so badly that she had to rebuildherself from the ground up. And damn it, if I’m not completely captivated by her, by her strength and her vulnerability all at once. But there’s also guilt, gnawing at me, because I’m not being honest with her. Not completely.
“Sophia…” I begin, my own voice softer now, tinged with the conflict that’s been brewing inside me. “I know what it’s like to lose everything. To have your world turned upside down and not know how to put the pieces back together.”
She looks at me, curiosity and something else—something warmer—in her eyes. “What happened?”
I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. This isn’t something I share with people, but she’s opened up to me, and it feels right to give her a piece of myself in return. “There was someone,” I say slowly, the memory of it still raw even after all these years. “Someone I loved. But I lost them, in a way I never saw coming. And after that, everything changed. I changed. I had to.”
She’s silent, but I can feel the tension between us shift, becoming something more intimate, more charged with the weight of our shared experiences. It’s like we’re both standing on the edge of something, something we’re afraid to name but can’t ignore.
The conversation winds down, the air around us growing thicker, heavier with each passing second. We’re so close now that I can feel the heat of her body, the way her breath quickens in the dark. I know what’s coming, and I know I should stop it, but I don’t. I can’t.
She leans in slightly, just enough to close the distance, and I feel her breath on my skin, warm and inviting. My pulse races, my body aching to close the gap, to give in to the pull that’s been building between us since the moment we met.
Sophia stands inches from me, her breath uneven, lips parted just enough to drive me wild. The tension between us is thick, electric. I’ve been holding back for weeks, and I can feel it now,burning at the edge of my control. She’s not mine—yet. But the way she looks at me, the way her body responds when I’m near, I know she wants this just as much as I do.
She’s holding back, though. It’s in her eyes, the slight hesitation that makes her wary, the small distance she keeps between us, like she’s afraid of what will happen if she crosses that invisible line.
But I’m not afraid. I step closer, closing the space between us, the heat radiating from her body drawing me in like a flame. My fingers brush her bare arm, trailing up to her shoulder, and her breath hitches. She’s soft, smooth beneath my touch, and it takes everything in me not to pull her against me right now, to crush those lips with mine.
“Sophia…” I say her name low, almost a growl, and I can see the way it affects her, the way her eyes darken, her pupils dilating with the same desire that’s been twisting me up inside. She’s trying so hard to hold it together, but I can see the crack in her defenses. She wants this, wants me, but something’s stopping her.
“Alex…” Her voice is barely a whisper, shaky and unsure. Her gaze flickers between my eyes and my mouth, like she’s trying to decide if she’s going to give in.
I’m not going to push her, but damn it, I want to. “You don’t have to hold back with me,” I say, my hand resting at the base of her neck now, my thumb grazing her pulse. It’s racing, as fast as mine. “You feel this too, don’t you?”
She doesn’t answer right away, but she doesn’t need to. Her body tells me everything. Her lips part slightly, a soft breath escaping as I lean in, just close enough that she can feel the heat of my breath against her mouth. I’m giving her the space to pull away, but she doesn’t.
